


Takes the Biscuit

by Nemainofthewater



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Clumsiness, Don't copy to another site, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Seaborn For President, Some Swearing, Utter Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Three times Josh is amused at the Leader of the Free World. And one time he wants to straight up murder him.





	Takes the Biscuit

1.

 

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” Josh asks.

 

Sam doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring at the desk. His desk now; technically, though for all of the old guard, himself included, it will always belong to President Bartlet.

 

“Sir?” Josh prompts.

 

Sam winces. “Don’t call me that,” he says, “It’s weird. And… No. I didn’t think we would.”

 

He walks across the carpeted floor, acutely that he is in fact living history. That textbooks could be written about this moment when Sam Seaborne, 46thPresident of the United States, assumes office. George Washington’s painted eyes bore into the side of his head.

 

History has its eyes on you indeed.

 

“I kind of have to,” Josh says, “I’m pretty sure it’s treason if I don’t. You don’t want me to go to jail, do you?”

 

“That’s definitely not how the American justice system works,” Sam says. He pauses. “Not unless there’s something they’re not telling me.”

 

He reaches out and carefully brushes his hand across the back of the leather-covered chair, before falling and tracing the paraphernalia stacked on the Resolute desk: memos, stacks of files that he had to read now that he the clearance, numerous pens proudly displaying the President’s seal.

 

“Mr. President?” Josh says, and Sam, startled out of the meditative daze that he’d settled into, turns too quickly and trips on the carpet.

 

“Owww,” he groans as at least fifty armed men in dark suits burst into the room, guns drawn.

 

“Yeah,” Josh says, offering him an arm up, “I don’t think you’re living this one down any time soon.”

 

Sam glares back up at him: “I’ve changed my mind,” he says, “You’re definitely going down for treason.”

 

2.

 

Sam’s playing with puppies. It’s a beautiful day for once, and what’s more photogenic than the president surrounded by a dozen adorable golden retrievers?

 

“This might actually give us some good publicity for once,” Josh mutters to Donna.

 

Sam enthusiastically thows a tennis ball, running forward to follow the pups and- falls over a tree branch.

 

“Never mind.”

 

3.

 

“It looks pretty bad for the Administration when the President looks more like a battered housewife than the leader of the free works.”

 

Toby hasn’t changed over the last few years. Not really. Sure, he’s a bit greyer, but then again they all are (except for Sam the freak). Josh knows that his hairline has been receding for a good ten years by now, and when asked will swear that the orange tangerine’s election turned it white overnight back in ’16.

 

Fundamentally though, they’re the same. A bit wiser, more tampered with age and the recent disillusionment with the office of the President of the United States, but the qualities that have made them, well them, have remained. Which means that Toby’s still has as much tact as a toddler and even less of a verbal filter. Especially now he doesn’t officially work for the administration.

 

“God Toby, you can’t say things like that,” Sam says.

 

“Oh, what are you going to do, slap a treason charge on me?”

 

“Why does everyone think I’m going to throw them in jail?” Sam exclaims, limbs akimbo and furrowed brow so Sam that it feels like they’ve been catapulted back twenty years into the past.

 

“Past experience,” Toby says, but without rancour.

 

Ok, so maybe he has mellowed out slightly.

 

Sam turns to Josh: “And why are we talking about this again? We need to tackle climate change, we need to capitalise on the American public’s relief at having President Trump-”

 

“Drumpf,” Josh mutters.

 

“-out of office to push through enough bills that we can start o mitigate at least some of the damage. We don’t have enough time to be talking about le tripping over a few carpets.”

 

“Au contraire,” Toby says, “Because when you start looking incompetent in front of Congress, they don’t take us seriously. And when they don’t take us seriously, before you know it the Republicans are on Fox news-”

 

“No one watches that anymore,” Sam mutters.

 

“-and giving tell-all interviews about the time you spilt wine on the British Ambassador’s daughter.”

 

“Marbury thought it was hilarious!”

 

“The press didn’t.”

 

Sam scowls.

 

“Fine,” he says, “I concede that you might, just might!, have a point. But I don’t think it’s necessarily what we need to worry about. At least not now. Come back to me in six months when we’re no longer in looming financial debt and we’ll talk about it them.”

 

And he turns grandiosely and walks smack bang into the door.

 

+1

 

“Josh,” Willow says, “The President wants to see you.”

 

Josh looks up from the memo he’s reading He’s not sure he’s spent more than eight hours at home this week, and the only time he’s actually seen his wife is in her official capacity as Press Secretary which means every time they meet she’s pissed at him. They’re all working overtime to get the new Climate Change Legislation drafted without it being ripped to shreds in the House.

 

But Sam’s President now. And that means that his only response to that sort of comment is to jump too and see what he needs. After all, they serve at the pleasure of the President. Anyway, there’s no way that he’d send Willow-his scarily competent PA whom the whole office was certain had either the most sophisticated spy network in place ever or had magic as she always knew what was going on, often before the culprits did-to fetch him if it wasn’t important. Life and death important.

 

It’s with that in mind that he gets to his feet and enters the Oval office, nodding at Agent Ross who’s on duty.

 

“Sir,” he says, “Is this important ‘cus I’m kinda in the midd-”

 

He stops short because Sam drags him further into the office, closing the door carefully.

 

“Josh,” he says, and his eyes are wide and panicked, “I’ve lost it.”

 

“What?”

 

“The biscuit! I don’t know where the biscuit is!”

 

“You called me in here for a baked good?” Josh asks, brain sluggishly processing words. Why couldn’t Sam just ring down to the kitchen and get another plate sent up. Wait. Oh shit.

 

“ _The_ Biscuit? The one you have to keep on you at all times? That biscuit?”

 

Sam nods miserably, and Josh decides to screw the sanctity of the Oval office and starts swearing, lowly and viciously.

 

Because the Biscuit… The Biscuit wasn’t really a biscuit. It was a small, laminated card that the President had to keep on himself at all times so that he could be positively identified if they ever needed to open the Football (which also wasn’t really a football) and bomb a country.

 

Josh has seen the poor military aide charged with accompanying Sam at all times just in case he so happens to want to nuke somewhere, stoically carrying the reinforced briefcase and sometimes having to jog to catch up with the motorcade when Sam forgets about him and leaves him to founder in the sea of staffers and press who seem to gravitate toward him at all times.

 

Hell, he’s heard all Sam’s complaining about the entire concept: “I’m not going to bomb a country Josh!” he says, eyes offended and reminiscent of a puppy despite the fact he’s a 55-year-old man, “Especially since we’re in disarmament talks with the Russians and the North Koreans. I don’t see the point of it.”                                              

 

He’d only relented after President Bartlet, still alive but bed-ridden, had called him up and had a long talk with him, President-to-President. And he still doesn’t like it: Josh is sure that at least fifty percent of the times that Sam has ‘accidentally’ left the Football behind haven’t been accidents at all.

 

But Sam has been conscientious about keeping the Biscuit on him at all times, determined to honour the office of the President of the United States of America even if he vehemently disagrees with the concept.

 

So for him to have lost it…

 

“When was the last time you saw it?” Josh asks desperately, visions of Russian blackmail dancing through his head.

 

“I don’t know,” Sam says miserably, running his hands through his hair, “I think I saw it a few weeks ago. I just tend to, you know, generally think about it. I assume it’s in my suit pocket because where else would it be?”

 

“A few weeks ago? God Sam, you lost this a few weeks ago and you haven’t bothered to tell anyone? The Russians could be using it to, to-”

 

“Breath Josh, it’s fine, just: in and out ok?”

 

“-hack into the mainframe and find the nuclear launch codes-”

 

“Maybe you should sit down-”

 

“-nuclear winter before you know it-“

 

“Nice and easy, in for three, out for five. In for three, out for five-”

 

Josh puts his head between his knees and breathes, great gasps trying to get as much oxygen to his lungs as possible.

 

“Feel better now?” Sam says, patting him on the back. With his other hand he discreetly waves the secret service agents out of the room again, from where they had burst in once Josh had started shouting.

 

“Yeah,” Josh says, voice muffled.

 

“Good,” Sam says, “Hold on, I’ll get you some water.”

 

Josh hears the chink of the crystal decanter, the water splashing into the glass, the muffled ‘oh shit’ from Sam.

 

“What is it now?” Josh groans.

 

“Well,” Sam says, “I’ve er. I’ve solved the problem.”

 

He sheepishly holds up a small card.

 

“I might have been accidentally using it as a coaster.”

 

Josh stares at him. Sam… looks sheepish.

 

Josh points a threatening, slightly trembling finger at his best friend and the leader of the Free World.

 

“I-” he says, “Am going to buy you a dozen coasters. No, a hundred. Then you’re going to put that card in your pocket, and I’m going to walk out of this room and pretend the last ten minutes never happened, ok?”

 

Sam nods, slipping the card into his breast pocket.

 

And Josh turns around and walks back to his desk- BANG

 

He glares at the door frame that he’s just walked straight into.

 

“I blame you for this,” he declares, rubbing the bruise and glaring at the doorframe he’s just walked straight into.

 

Yeah. Maybe a thousand coasters.  

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how American politics work apart from what I've learnt from the West Wing. Forgive me?  
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


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